


No You Girls Never Know

by wildestranger



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Crossdressing, F/M, Loss of Virginity, Pegging, Time Travel, Wedding Night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-07
Updated: 2013-03-07
Packaged: 2017-12-04 14:51:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/711948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildestranger/pseuds/wildestranger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>River trails a finger down his chest, his shirt still open from before, and widens her eyes.</p><p>“And after all, this is our wedding night.”</p><p>The Doctor nods, his eyes following her hand as it dips lower, then scowls and starts to sit up. River is fortunately positioned to push him back down.</p><p>“Wait a minute, this is not our wedding night. How is this our wedding night? What about that time in the Orb of Unearthly Delights?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	No You Girls Never Know

**Author's Note:**

> I began this story, my docx file tells me, in June 2011, before 'The Wedding of River Song' and long before the revelations about River and Amy. Mostly I felt that since River and the Doctor were ckearly married in some way, we should have wedding nitgh fic, and well, if you're going to do that...why not kinky crossdressing pegging? 
> 
> Thanks to liseuse for the beta, and to such heights and shaggydogstail for reading earlier versions of the story - your support and comments were much appreciated!

The Doctor shuffles from one foot to the other. One hand clutches the console of the TARDIS, making the harmonic generator twitch and hum. His knuckles are white.

The other hand is pulling the hem of his skirt down. 

River smiles, and takes a deep breath against the gurgle of glee that’s been growing in her throat since he walked in. The skirt she has chosen for him is nine inches long, red and brown tartan, thick wool but silk on the inside. 

It won’t give no matter how much he pulls.

He’s still talking, an extended babble about Silurians and penguins and how strange humans are, hear that River, _strange_ , and honestly…

“…honestly, it’s not as if I haven’t worn a skirt before, the Veretuxans have a whole celebration about them, lasts a week, and everybody has to put on the Retexxettet for the final shebang, which is even shorter than this, and really…”

River takes hold of his hand, the one tugging at the skirt, and the Doctor falls silent. Her fingers brush his thigh, just once, almost as if by accident.

The Doctor swallows.

“Turn around,” she says. Her heartbeat is as fast as his, but her shirt, held in place by her braces and the bowtie, keeps her throat hidden. In any case, he’s not looking at her, is looking at anything except her, eyes flitting from wall to console to another wall to the door. 

She needs to nip that thought in the bud.

“Turn around, hands on the console. It’s all switched off, so don’t worry about accidentally sending us off.”

The Doctor opens his mouth to argue, but takes a deep breath instead. River lets her hand fall, and stands back. He shakes his head a little, shudders, and tries to look stern and preoccupied. It’s somehow adorable and breathtaking at the same time.

“Switched off? You can’t switch off the TARDIS, it doesn’t work like that!”

“She is not going to respond to any stimuli from you until I tell her to. We have an agreement.”

The Doctor scowls, and another time River would enjoy playing this out, but there is other business at hand now. She slides her thumbs down under the braces, coming to rest at her belt with its complicated mesh of leather straps. She won’t touch it yet. She doesn’t have to.

“Stop prevaricating, love. Turn around.”

The Doctor’s scowl deepens for a moment, but he turns to face the central column. His hands pause before landing hesitantly on the control panel.

“Don’t worry. I promise I’ll be gentle.”

That produces a harrumphing noise, but eventually the Doctor reaches out to grip two levers. One of which, River notes, is the emergency brake.

The gurgle in her throat threatens to escape again, and she has to remind herself that any hint of mockery would be fatal at this stage. There will be time for that afterwards.

“Do you remember the safe word?”

The Doctor’s mumble is both inaudible and entirely predictable. 

“What’s that, sweetie?”

“I _said_ , there’s no need for that. You’re not going to do,” deep gulp, “do anything I won’t like.”

River considers pointing out that he doesn’t know what he likes quite yet. But the Doctor is skittish enough as it is.

“Humour me. It’s all part of the tradition, and you know how I like my traditions. And at least I didn’t ask you to dress up as a Roman this time.”

Another inaudible mumble, but River knows him too well by now.

“Yes, dear, but it really wouldn’t be fair to expect me to give up a whole world of strapping men in skirts, just because of my father. And you’ll recall it was your idea to dress him so.”

The Doctor replies with an eloquent silence.

“So, safe word?”

The Doctor sighs, and shifts his feet a little wider.

“Pineapple.”

“Good.” River steps closer and trails a finger down the Doctor’s back. He shivers under her hand. “Now, let’s get started.”

Slowly, she pushes him down to lean on his arms. 

 

* * *

 

He’s been sweating since she lifted his skirt, stroked the tender flesh of his thighs, and told him to spread ’em like a sailor. His skin had been cold, though, nerves combined with the thick unbreathing wool, the sweat of fear and, perhaps, anticipation.

It’s only when she bunches the skirt above his waist and slaps him, once on each buttock, that he begins to warm.

She places her thumb on the delicate skin just above and the Doctor inhales loudly, squirms; she strokes, a slow circle, and a breathless moan stutters from his throat. River leans closer, lets him feel her against his back, and strokes again. The Doctor goes taut in her arms. His mouth opens to give out short bursts of desperate exhalation, and River presses her cheek to his, the better to hear them.

Then she slides a hand into her pocket, takes out a small jar, and places it on the console next to the Doctor’s hand. 

He stops breathing. And then lets it all out in a whoosh, a brief relaxation of his limbs that ends in shoulders so tense he can’t stay still. His fingers slide on the levers, sweaty and pale, and his voice is unsteady.

“You know, River, I’m not sure, after all, if this is such a good idea.”

River pulls back, enough to let the air cool between then, and waits.

“We could try out some sonic carpentry instead. There’s a banana I’ve been meaning to put up? Or do I mean a shelf? One or the other, it’s so hard to tell sometimes…”

He does not use the safe word. Stepping closer, River reaches out with both hands, her arms coming to encircle the Doctor, and opens the jar. The liquid is thick and colourless, smelling lightly of honey. She swirls a small amount on her finger, then rubs it over the Doctor’s lips. He sucks in her finger, and she uses it to guide his mouth close. 

“Hello.”

He smiles at her as if he can’t help it. “Hello.” She leans close to kiss him, his mouth open for her, soft and warm and willing.

Her other hand opens his shirt. 

He kisses her as she rubs the liquid on his nipples, pants into her mouth as she draws wet circles around the areole, teasing one after the other until the Doctor pulls back, his chest flushed and heaving. He closes his eyes when she pours more of the liquid over her hand, between her fingers, and takes one step back.

He leans down without asking.

 

* * *

 

After the first gulp of breath, the Doctor is silent. River knows how to do this quietly, but this time she wants him to hear what she’s doing, the wet slap of her hand as she pulls on one cheek, the slide of her thigh against his as she steps between his legs. If she were to put her hands on his chest there would be a rapid heartbeat under each palm, but he stays still and calm as she touches him. He does not open easily – the first time, she knows, that this body has been used this way. River lays a steadying hand on his neck and the Doctor shudders, pressing away and towards her, his mouth opening silently. River squeezes his shoulder, presses a brief apologetic kiss on his cheek, and reaches deeper. The Doctor shudders again.

The feel of him under both her hands steadies her, even as he begins to come apart. The thought makes her squirm.

 

* * *

“Isn’t that enough?”

Two fingers in, moving steady. River has brought her other hand to rest on the Doctor’s back, just beneath where his skirt is bunched up, but it doesn’t seem to calm his nerves – his left leg has been shaking for the past two minutes. 

Which is not to say that he is or isn’t ready, only anxious. River pulls out, pulls the Doctor’s skirt back down, and turns him around by the hips.

“What? I thought we were…”

She moves in to kiss him, as she likes to kiss him, to silence him and distract him, to say hello. She strokes her fingers down his face, his cheeks hot and damp. He blinks a few times, then looks sulky for having been caught so.

“I thought the _plan_ was, the plan _you insisted on_ …”

“TARDIS, take us to my room, please.”

Teleportation is another easy way to distract the Doctor, and one she and the TARDIS both enjoy. Especially when it involves the swimming pool, but she’ll save that for next time.

Before he can get his wind back up (and he’s about to, she can tell, lungs expanding against her chest and chin coming up to that smug pose that always makes her want to slap him or kiss him), she links a foot under his knee and pushes him down on her bed. He falls down on a tangle of mostly bared limbs, the skirt hiked up a bit and his hair on his outraged face. Suddenly River wants to laugh. Here is the Doctor, dressed as a coy schoolgirl and about to be ravished, fuming as he does battle with her sheets. River falls neatly down beside him, captures one flailing hand in hers and presses it to his chest.

“Really Doctor, did you think I wouldn’t want to ravish you properly, on a proper bed?”

“Well. I suppose this is more comfortable,” he says, and tries to bounce a little. The bed does not oblige him, but rather moves him so that’s he’s pressed against her thigh.

River trails a finger down his chest, his shirt still open from before, and widens her eyes.

“And after all, this is our wedding night.”

The Doctor nods, his eyes following her hand as it dips lower, then scowls and starts to sit up. River is fortunately positioned to push him back down.

“Wait a minute, this is not our wedding night. How is this our wedding night? What about that time in the Orb of Unearthly Delights?”

“We’re going to the Orb of Unearthly Delights? How adventurous of us! Are we going to do the – no, don’t tell me, I want to be surprised. You know how I like surprises, Doctor. And planning.”

She waggles her eyebrows at him. This, as she suspected, is the last straw.

“River! Don’t even try to…” She stops his mouth with a kiss, pushes him down again when he tries to rise, and climbs to straddle him. His hands twitch once under her fingers, but she holds him firmly. He appears to realise this, and relaxes beneath her, opens for her.

They stay that way for a while; mouth to mouth, her hands over his, legs entangled and breathing each other’s air. River slides her thigh between the Doctor’s, he bites her jaw and curls his ankle over hers. His skirt keeps sliding up and he keeps not noticing, his bare skin against her clothed hips. When the Doctor tries to move his hands she lets him go, and he wraps his arms around her, strokes her back, buries one hand in her hair.

His other hand moves down and grabs hold.

River holds her breath. The Doctor’s questing hand slides up, then down, a loose grip with fingers spread. River swallows, then smiles. The Doctor frowns.

“What is this, exactly? I know what’s it’s for, obviously, but what is it made of? How does it work?”

The gurgle makes a reappearance in her throat and suddenly River can’t help but laugh. Something about his puzzled face, and the way he scrunches his eyebrows.

“My dear, when we are finished you have my permission to examine it to your hearts’ content. However, perhaps we could focus on the task at hand for now?” River pushes closer, and the Doctor’s hand slides, ends up entangled between her legs. His fingers become tentative.

“Yes, but, well.” His puzzled face is puzzled. River smirks. “What it is doing for you? It is doing something, isn’t it?”

_Oh._

River leans down and kisses his cheek, his mouth, then bites his ear and whispers: “It’s sonic, sweetie. Only the best for you.”

 

* * *

 

River is kneeling on the bed. The Doctor’s legs are held apart by her hands, slightly wider than they need to go, and he is breathing carefully through his open mouth, trying to look calm. She’s going to change that.

She has done this before, with other men and women. She knows he has done it before, with other women and men, although not in this body. As well as he thinks he knows himself, there is always something surprising about sex, something in the way the body reacts to new things. The connections that link various parts to various thought and various desires, various scenarios, have not yet been made. It can be humbling, to know that you are the first person helping to make those connections.

River is somewhere between gleeful and terrified, but mostly she feels really really smug.

He watches as she takes hold of her cock. Even that slight touch is enough to send tendrils of sensation through her, and her grip tightens, just to see. The Doctor is smiling at her, and she smiles back helplessly. Then he reaches out to join her hand with his. 

“What an interesting machine this is. You won’t mind if I take it apart later, will you?”

River swallows, and tries to look stern, but his fingers are pressing the damn thing against her, again. A small noise escapes her mouth.

“But perhaps that can wait. I’ve never seen you speechless before, and…”

That really will not stand, so River tells herself to concentrate and moves closer, enough to brush against his opening. Every press of his hand will affect him as much as her now. But he merely smiles again, and pulls her closer. The wrinkles around his eyes are at odds with his young face.

“Well, my dear?”

Well, indeed. River puts one hand on his thigh, still now for the first time, and presses in. 

* * *

His face is close and his breath is on her lips; she moves slowly, steadily, over him and into him, teasing out exhalations and moans. His face shows everything, is made for showing every feeling and amplifying it. There is no concern for hiding anything, but this directness is not childish on him. An honesty of articulation, a form of communication which allows him to draw on everything he has known and done and seen, and to display that through such a youthful face, with devastating consequences. River has never been able to look away from that face, and now as he’s breathing carefully, his eyes locked on hers, his mouth an inch from hers, she wants that overwhelmingly. Wants more of him, everything of him, wants what she’s supposed to not want because this way leads to the worst of heartbreak.

She is not a possessive woman – could not be, with her life, and with the Doctor. It was a decision she made early on, not to remain monogamous nor expect him to. Some might think this is in order to be generous towards him, or to save herself the hurt of being disappointed by his endless loves, but River is quite aware that the choice was made for her own sake. To remain attached to the Doctor is a foolish decision in any case, she knows this well even if she would not (could not) change that, and to involve him in all of her sexual practices would make it worse. She likes to think she is keeping some independence from him, making sure that there is slightly less pining than there would otherwise be. She is not sure how successful she is.

He wets his mouth with his tongue, then lifts himself up to kiss her. His eyes remain open, and he’s not smiling, just looking at her as if she’s revealing as much to him as he is to her. She wants to hide her face in his neck, to push harder and faster so that he’ll look away, but something keeps her here. He traces one finger down her cheek with such gentleness that she has to close her eyes.

He pulls her down, kisses her, and suddenly they are moving together, his thighs entangled with hers, his hands around her back, under her hair, her fists in his shirt, over his heart. They’re moving and she’s feeling him everywhere, his hands and his lips and his ridiculous hair in her eyes, and he’s laughing, gusts of air escaping his mouth with every push and pull, and every twitch of his body rubbing against her, and then. 

He doesn’t let go as she begins to shake, keeps a hand on her face and another between her legs, moving her between them and kissing her with every breath. She shudders and he pulls her close, and shudders in turn, his mouth open against her, whispering.

 

* * *

River doesn’t really want to move, but she knows that if she leaves him unattended for too long, something will happen. Often something explosive, although how he could manage that in his current state is not clear. No doubt something could be managed. River opens her eyes, and finds him looking entirely too pleased with himself. She is aware that she ought to be pleased by this, considering what they’ve just done, but with the Doctor that look is somehow…suspicious.

She frowns, and he grins at her. Definitely suspicious. 

“Well, River, it occurs to me that you are still wearing most of your clothes. I’m aware that I’ve only just been deflowered, but surely there’s something we ought to do about that?”

A hand that has been slowly making its way up from her waist, following her suspenders with light fingers, finally reaches her face. He leans close, and…

Straightens her bow tie.

But even as River pulls air into her lungs to tell him exactly what she thinks of that kind of behaviour and how, precisely, she is going to train him out of it, his thumb falls upon her mouth and pulls it shut. She raises an eyebrow.

The Doctor leans closer and nudges her nose with his. His smile is crooked, and very, very fond.

“Let me show you how”, he presses a kiss on her jaw, “to take all of these off. It’s so easy to get tangled, you see. And we wouldn’t want that, would we?”

River employs her eyebrow again, and the Doctor begins to blush.

“Well, perhaps we would , another time, but for now…”

Suddenly he pulls her into his lap, his arms around her back, on her shoulder blades, her body tight against him. It surprises the air out of her lungs, and River laughs, because this boy, this _man_ …

The Doctor grins, crooks a finger under her bowtie, and pulls.


End file.
